


Judging Veretians Kindly

by L_C_Weary



Series: Loan's Captive Prince Month [24]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Brief Grief, Gen, Makedon Being The Support Laurent Deserves Him To Be, Makedon Likes Fighting But We Still Like Him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 20:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_C_Weary/pseuds/L_C_Weary
Summary: Makedon found Laurent in the gardens staring at Auguste's statue after a night with griva flowing.(10-Year Anniversary Captive Prince Month, Day 24, Prompt: Truth)





	Judging Veretians Kindly

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, another conversation by a memorial, while someone's grieving.
> 
> Not first language. No beta. You can figure the rest.

The statue of Auguste at Delfeur was truer to reality and he thought it would hurt less. On normal days it did not, anymore, but under the dark sheet of the night sky, the pain wanted to surface, wanted to suffocate him. There was no noise whatsoever, like happiness and nature was sucked out of the world.

He couldn't stand, he drank too much for that. It was probably better, he only could regard the statue from the bench, it wasn't that lively from that far. Not enough for him to be surprised Auguste did not radiate heat anymore.

He drank too much. He pressed his eyelids shut, fingers clenching on the cup he was still holding. Makedon and his griva. He even brought the mysterious uncle who made that burning friendship of a drink.

Usually, it was entertaining. Amusing even. Makedon had great stories to tell, and while nowadays they enjoyed each other’s company sober too, it was now a tradition once a year to drink themselves emotional. The plan was to be emotional about lovers and the greatness of countries, the memories of hunts and hard fought victories of seemingly endless duels. Not about dead brothers. He wanted to remember the good things about Auguste, not the pain, not that anymore.

The cup fell from his hand, and he dug the heels of his palm into his eyes. He was just tired, he told himself. It was only half a lie. He would have saved himself from exhaustion and pain in the heart if he would have taken Damen's advice and went to bed. Instead he listened to Makedon talk about how his relationship with his brother went from mischievousness and natural competition to being despised, cruelly, for even a man like Makedon remembered it with shining eyes.

The alcohol in his system did not let him have soft memories, it made rage and resentment burn in him. Over the years he learned to let those go but at that night it just left his heart empty, only sorrow clawing at his chest.

"You alright?" Laurent winced. It was Makedon, sitting down on the bench, at the other end of it leaving him space. He didn't even hear him approach. He did drink much. He turned to the man, he wanted to find drunk happiness on him and glinting eyes, a smirk maybe, anything that would indicate that he did not realize how ruined he felt that moment.

"I miss him." That was definitely not what he intended to say. He closed his eyes for a moment, he rarely embarrassed himself. He fixed his eyes on the statue again. He would rather not look at Makedon and the deep concern that was written on his face. He had gray in his hair nowadays, something that gave his higher ranked soldiers great pleasure in teasing. It made him look even more serious. But he did not look old. He just looked collected. Laurent had no desire to be analysed by a wise man at that moment.

Makedon sighed, gaze turned to Auguste, measuring him. Laurent got overwhelmed by the desire to tell Makedon what kind of man his brother was. He had qualities Makedon respected. He was an excellent fighter, a great commander, an honest man, he would have turned into a strict but fair king. He would have been someone worth talking to, worth listening too. Even Makedon would have liked him. Laurent smiled, let his lips get the best of him.

"I fought at Marlas, obviously," sighed Makedon again, pulling his chiton down on his thighs. There was a breeze circling around them, not necessarily cold, but Akielons refused to wear real clothing so it hardly mattered.

"I know you don't favor violence, you and your snake mind," he smirked judging from his voice, before it became serious again. "I know the beauty of it. The fairness of it." His voice was quiet and determined. His eyes were focused on nothing and everything in the garden.

"Before every fight I went to I pray to the gods to help us in the field. When we won," he said like it was automatic and Laurent almost smiled. "I went back to pray for the orphans we created."

Laurent closed his eyes. He did not want to hear it. He wanted to pain to wash him clear but do not make him think. It would have been easier. Drunk and exhausted, he wanted it to be simple.

"I honor a fair fight, it is honest. It has sacrifices but somehow problems need solving." Laurent wanted to snort, when he was drunk he sometimes did it as his mind wouldn't provide him any witty to say. It came out as a hum.

"So I'm sorry." Laurent refused to open his eyes. Makedon's voice was the only thing connecting him to the ground, without it was just darkness and loss. He wanted for Makedon to let him go, to let him float in grief. "We both know it was not a fair fight. It was disgusting, what your uncle did." Not that Makedon knew even the half of it. "Our victory is worthless and it was punishing for those who did not deserve it." Laurent did not even acknowledge the other man. "You did not deserve it." He clarified.

Then it was silence. Laurent heard breathing, not sure whose. Heard how Makedon got up and took a few steps in the direction of the statue. He, then, turned back.

"Go to bed, son." He felt a strong hand at his shoulder, only for a moment, to make his words more powerful. Then he left. Laurent heard him go back inside.

When he open his eyes, the statue was foggy, his lashes were damp.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest I'm not quite sure why I planned this story to this prompt, but that's how that goes when you don't know how to outline correctly. As it seems I make a habit out of writing individual fics where Laurent cries about someone he lost. It's a fun ride. :)
> 
> (Find me on [tumblr](http://answermywearyquery.tumblr.com/).)


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